


Deal with the Devil

by ShyTortise



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bad Poetry, Beelzebub keeps their promises, Crowley gets a lot of whump in this fandom, Fluff, Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), I am bad at Crowley, I did warn about the non realistic emotional recovery, I don't know how graphic it needs to be to be tagged graphic, I forgot that tag the first time, M/M, Name the references, No don't I don't want to be reminded how old I am, SO MUCH FLUFF, So many speech ticks, There is lots of fluff coming, They are silly boys, Variable chapter length, abuse of commas and hyphens, abuse of elipses, and I love it, but it's the angel's turn, consistent tense is for people who know what they're doing, emotional consistency what's that?, no beta we go like lead balloons, non-realistic emotional recovery, so i'm being safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyTortise/pseuds/ShyTortise
Summary: "You...this gains you nothing. This isn't a Deal."His heart leaps to his throat but he keeps his face calm. If he fails here he simply has to try again later. This is not the end. He can make this work."This is a Bet." The Morning Star nearly blinds him as he smiles, blasting the area around them with unholy glee. "And I will accept."***Aziraphale has had many bad ideas in the course of history. Of those there are only two he has acted on that he does not regret at all, and yet those two ideas, actions, have caused him the most pain of his existence. But they are worth it, because they are for Crowley. His Dearest One. His Demon. His Love.





	1. Party of the First Part

**Author's Note:**

> So I love the T.V. series canon end, they live happily ever after, that makes me so happy. But then I thought, Crowley gets a lot of whump, and is written a lot taking Aziraphale's punishment in his place...But what if it was the other way around?

They'd had a name, once upon a time. They can't remember it now. There's only one name in their mind, glittering like stars and shining cool light on the fiery painful nebula that has become their whole existence.

**_Crowley_.**

They Know, down to their very core, that all they suffer is to keep the being bearing that name safe.

The galaxy that is their back explodes in agony. Feathers fall like autumn leaves and the sound of bones snapping sends them back to The Flood; waters tearing down trees with roots that could have cradled the center of the Earth. But **_Crowley_** is there, a constellation whirling with celestial fire...no, not quite celestial, but beautiful nonetheless. That wonderful fire whipped out, binding the trees to carry small souls, keeping them safe from the ravenous rapids.

This is not the first time their wings have been broken. Not even the hundredth.

They slam back into their corporeal form, or what is left of it, bound anew by the sigils once more being carved into flesh that barely holds together.

"Well Aziraphale, have you come to your senses?"

For a moment they stare uncomprehendingly at the twist of wings and fire that is filling what they can recognize now as a human body. It has said something, and as the words filter into their understanding they feel the magma of their blood , wrath smoking from their mouth like the eruption of a pulsar. They roar their defiance, or try to. They have no control of their language and no tongue to temper it.

"Pity." The human shaped being snaps.

They know what is coming, what has happened, what is happening, what will always happen. It is the cold of light and unceasing righteousness, the weight of blind obedience and once more they remember. The liquid sloughs off the wounds and old skin until once more they are whole, spitting out crystals of holiness.

They are Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Protector of the Serpent, and they are still in Hell.

*%*%*

Aziraphale sputtered and fought to keep from breathing as Gabriel poured the Holy Water over his mouth and nose, watching intently.

"And you still haven't Fallen. Hell is losing its touch." The demons who were still holding Aziraphale's mangled wings snarled, but stayed back, away from the deadly flow. "You're so close to the end. I wonder if you even recall what you've placed yourself in Hell's clutches for. Was he worth it?"

The blasphemous curses pressed against the cage of his teeth and Aziraphale forced himself to keep quiet. Talking back only made it worse. He'd had millennia of practice, keeping from questioning the Ineffable Plan, holding back his protests on policy...biting back every loving word he'd wanted to say to Crowley.

"Well I suppose it's a moot point now." Gabriel knew the terms of the contract, had arrived to bestow the LORD'S word upon the Prince of Hell and the Wayward Principality. She had not wanted to lose such a staunch defender of her most capricious of creations.

_"AS I DESTROYED AND RECREATED THE WORLD FROM THE FLOOD, SO YOU WILL HAVE FORTY DAYS AND FORTY NIGHTS TO ENACT YOUR RETRIBUTION. THEN, AS I HAVE, SO WILL YOU PROVE THAT NEVER AGAIN WILL YOU VISIT SUCH WRATH UPON THE UNDESERVING." Gabriel falls to one knee, taking breaths he doesn't need as the Holy Voice leaves him. "So sayeth the LORD." Beelzebub is practically vibrating in suppressed fear and expressed rage._

_"How dare you utter those words here!" They snarl as the Archangel stands back upright, dusting himself off._

_"Believe me I didn't want to. It's my job." He glances at Aziraphale who certainly doesn't look as if he expected God to have anything to say about his little scheme to get Hell off the Demon's back. "Such a simple task isn't beyond you surely?" Aziraphale flinches away from Beelzebub as they nearly vanish in a cloud of biting buzzing dragonflies that swarm at Gabriel who shifts into a pillar of light. "Now now! I'm doing my job, I'll leave you to do yours. I'll be back to make sure he survives the experience." Eyes of violet flame pin the Principality. "As much as I may wish otherwise, Her Word is Law. By Her Grace you will live Aziraphale, even if by the end you don't want to."  
_

"And you're still clinging to hope."

"Despair is the only unforgivable sin." Aziraphale flinched as the jug of Holy Water slammed into the ground next to him, Gabriel grabbing his hair and pulling, lifting him up.

"Don't quote Her to ME you-" Gabriel stopped, shocked, as a soft pudgy hand reached out to wrap around his throat and squeezed hard enough to crush the windpipe he didn't need, but had enjoyed having.

"I agreed to submit to Hell's tortures. Not yours. Unhand me." His wings were still agony incarnate, but he didn't fight the demons holding them as Gabriel let go, the taller being stepping back to heal himself, gagging softly.

"You would _dare_-"

"I have dared much in the span of my existence, and the only things I regret are those I did not do." The kisses he hadn't given, the words he'd never said, touches he hadn't let linger as long as he wanted. His legs were shaking and he knelt slowly to keep from falling. Waiting. The door was open, he could leave...but that too was part of the temptation. At any time he could have left, walked away with no consequences for himself. But breaking the contract would put Crowley once more in Hell's crosshairs.

The demon behind and to his left cackled gleefully, shaking the broken wing like a child with a jumprope and Aziraphale bit through his lip to keep from screaming.

"This'd make a damn fine demon! Got brass balls it does." The other snorted and shook her head.

"Nah, too much fuckin' love. Feel it? He'd be so twisted we'd all be findin' eachother's hearts in our sheets. Dun feel like cleanin' blood up every morning."

They both ignored Gabriel. They had a job to do, and that was to take every pound of flesh from the angel's hide that they could. To make him an example, to show that no one was beyond Hell's reach. Of course the fact that the angel had offered himself to them in place of one of their own had spread like fire through a coal seam, impossible to put out or control.

"Demons can't feel love." Gabriel looked at them like they were inhabiting their corporeal forms inside out.

"Which dumbass fed you that line?" The first demon sneered. "We can feel everything, just like you featherbrain. We just don't go 'round acting like superior fucks 'cause of it."

Aziraphale choked on a laugh that turned into a sob. "Oh...my dear." He grunted as the second demon pulled his broken wing taut and grabbed something that had sharp jagged edges and glinted in the light.

"He can't help you down here, but maybe if you scream loud enough we can wake him up."

Gabriel pursed his lips and left.

%*%*%

Beelzebub drummed their fingers on the arm of the throne. The Archangel had arrived for his daily delivery to keep the angel alive. The Holy Water had been a concern at first, but Gabriel had proven he was focused solely on using it to keep the Principality from dissolving back into cosmic dust. The flies around their head buzzed in agitation, it was an inconvenience they had killed lesser beings for, but a contract was a contract.

They stood up and snapped their fingers, stepping out of Hell and into a rather gray flat on Earth. The plants had grown into each other, a rose shrub strangling the life from what might have been a ficus. Beelzebub smirked approvingly at the riotous growth, such glorious chaos and disrespect for restrictions.

Their eyes narrowed as they finally reached the bedroom, taking in the lump under the covers

_"Those are my terms." He stands there in his ridiculous human clothing, looking like a stern schoolteacher._

_"You are seriouzzz? Thizzz will not be a survivable experience for you Prinzzzzipality." Beelzebub leans forward, searching that stupidly soft face for any hint of hesitance or self interest._

_"The archangels want to see me punished as well, they won't let me die." He shrugs looking resigned. "Well, two of them won't. Sandalphon might just to be petty, but Michael and Gabriel want me to suffer."_

_"Our torturerzzz will find wayzzz to make up for the lack of sexual revenge."_

_"I know."_

_"And what will the traitor being doing while you 'suffer'?" The demon prince is irritated to find they are using Crowley's damn 'finger quotes'._

_"Sleeping."_

_"You have ensorcelled him?" That is the only explanation they can come up with, Crowley had shown no signs of one of his long bouts of sloth._

_"Oh please, that's such a nasty word, and he's done so much already he deserves a rest." The angel tugged at his sleeves. "I simply...extended his nap."_

The prince kicked the bed, smirking as the frame juddered. The serpent jerked awake, scrabbling backwards to get away from the furious buzzing; still half drugged with sleep and the Celestial Blessing of Peaceful Slumber

"Wha-? Bzlbeb?"

"Crowley. Clean up thizzz mess." They gestured to the neglected room, and by extension the flat. "It's not fit for guests." They have no obligation to explain, so they don't. It's enough that the serpent will be awake to welcome his champion back. "And don't think this pardon will extend to any future endevourzzz against us." They are almost humming as they step out of the human world and back into hell, pausing outside the torture chamber door.

The angel should have been experiencing the last dregs of Hell's vengeance, screaming and writhing before being shoved unceremoniously out to where Gabriel waited to heal him and drop him back on Earth. Instead the pressure radiating from the room was enough to make Beezlebub weak in the knees, their flies hiding under their skin, behind their eyes. The Master was in there, and He was wroth.

*%*%*

_He is meditating, watching the rivers Lot and Garonne. Four and a half thousand years he has prepared for this, studied and searched, scoured every corner of the Earth and as much of Heaven as he could without drawing too much suspicion. The shouts and screams from the wall draw his attention for a moment, but they are mostly from the soldiers, not the townsfolk and so he turns his attention back to his half finished task. _

_Guardian, he was named. After Principality of course, but She has always meant him to protect, he feels. And so he has instructed the young folk of the town on how to harass military supply lines, how to avoid those stupid lance charges the chevaliers seem so fond of. But his focus now is on the task ahead.  
_

_He knows what he wants, and he knows what he will offer in return. It is dangerous, there will be no escape if things go wrong, if he fails in his given task no matter how vile. And there is always the risk of Falling from obedience to the Adversary, but he is certain the reward will be worth any pain. The vellum spreads easily on the stone parapet, the words written in the language of Angels, in his own blood, awaiting only the Task, and two signatures._

_"Star of Morning, best beloved of The All Knowing and All Mighty, now Lucifer and cast out, I call you." He doesn't look away from the rivers, a free flowing crossroads sweeping up the malice of the distant army combined with the rage and bloodlust of the townspeople in defense of their home. The blood in the ground and in the air shivers and boils as the stone to his left cracks, the Fallen Angel sitting on the parapet, watching the smoke rise in the distance._

_"You dare much, little Principality. I could rip you to atoms where you stand. I have sundered molecules for lesser infractions than summoning me." His voice is velvet and electricity all at once, a mess of blond curls spilling around cracked red horns, half the skin of his body blistered red, constantly healing and burning again. _

_"I know. I wish to make a deal."_

_The laugh is a horse's scream as it tumbles into a pitfall, dying alongside it's rider._

_"You? A deal with ME?" Fingers that had woven the light of Heaven into Halos for other angels, then taken up arms against them in rage, grab his face and yank him close. "What do you wish for little bird? I cannot give you more life than She, is it knowledge you crave?"_

_"I want one of your demons. More particularly, I want you to release him." _

_"You what?" _

_He can recall a similar moment, but the eyes here are the red and black of cooling magma; not the glimmering yellow of jonquille, with a slash of obsidian._

_"It's in the contract. I laid it all out. If I succeed, then you release the demon, free of any interference from Hell, forever." He takes a slow breath and lets it out, ignoring how the fingers are digging painfully into his jaw. He doesn't like being touched by people he doesn't trust. "And if I fail...then I surrender myself to your side, willingly. For eternity."Quick as an arrow the hand releases him and snatches up the parchment, which smokes slightly around the edges as the Devil reads._

_"You...this gains you nothing. This isn't a Deal." _

_His heart leaps to his throat but he keeps his face calm. If he fails here he simply has to try again later. This is not the end. He can make this work._

_"This is a Wager." The Morning Star nearly blinds him as he smiles, blasting the area around them with unholy glee. "And I will accept." A feather the dark of ancient caves appears in one elegant hand as the Adversary pens in the wager. "For six hundred and sixty six years you will not tell the demon you love them. You will not consummate a relationship of the flesh. You will not bind them to you, nor yourself to them in any way. And if at the end of those years they still choose to go to you, then I will release them."_

He almost thought he was still lost in his memories when he felt the familiar pain in his jaw, tilting his head up, forcing his eyes open. There weren't blond curls anymore, the once red horns cracked and split into a crown the tint of dried blood. The eyes completely void.

"They're whispering about how you haven't given in yet. Do you really think you've won?" He had almost forgotten until the seething rage in those eyes jogged his memory.

"I have. I adhered to the rules of our bet." He had not allowed himself to speak his affection. He hadn't given over to Crowley's innumerable charms, and he had not run away with him; even as the very essence of his being screamed to join his demon on their own side.

"Really? Do you think this farce of martyrdom isn't a declaration?"

"He doesn't know. This doesn't bind him to me, and you know better than anyone that suffering for someone doesn't bind you to them." He gasped as the rough talons that hadn't been apparent in the 1300's stabbed into his cheeks, his blood sizzling against Lucifer's skin.

"What about every time you said his name? The Bastille, or every 'My Dear'?" The Morning Star squeezed. "Or 'I forgive you'." He leaned in close and Aziraphale could feel the skin of his cheek burn and flay, blood boiling away as a the acid of the Devil's voice dripped into his ear. "To the World."

"I never said..." He'd said those things certainly, but... "I never told him," he couldn't risk it, he didn't actually know how close to the end he was, Armageddon had put him on a more mortal timescale and the way the cursed dungeon operated skewed his perception even further, "what I agreed not to."

"You thought it. In every 'Dear', every smile and touch."

"The contract only stated I could never tell him specifically, not that I couldn't demonstrate it at all." He stilled as fingers that tasted of sulfur slid into his mouth and grabbed his tongue.

"And that little trick, you think I couldn't feel your very essence mingling with his?"

"It...wathn't consumathion of the fleth-" The noise ripped from his throat was one of the more piteous as he felt his tongue pierced and pulled until he trembled with the fear of it being ripped out entirely once again.

"It was a binding!"

"Nuh!" It had been a free transference, he had not bound himself to Crowley, simply nestled in his body and the demon hadn't been forced into his corporation, quite the opposite.

"You coward. Do you think I can't ruin you past what your demon will tolerate? You're in **my** domain, I can stretch every millisecond into an eternity. When I'm finished with you all your scheming will mean **nothing **because he'll be so disgusted by you that being on the same continent will be too much."

"You can't!" That was the one fear he had avoided facing, had shoved back and drowned in the physical pain. To be without Crowley after so long, after denying both of them the the comfort of indulging in love and safety, would shatter him. It would be worse than Hell, and he could see the Devil knew it. Aziraphale had a dizzying moment to wonder if the first Angel to die by Lucifer's sword had seen the same smile that was glowing at him now.

"I only specified how many years. Not how long they would feel."

%*%*%

Beelzebub hesitated only a moment. They were the Prince, and that meant keeping Hell safe from the focused attention of Heaven. They pushed open the door, ignoring the stench of blood and angelic tears.

"Timezz up." They stood tall as their Lord and Master unfolded himself from where he was crouched in front of the Principality.

"I'm not finished."

"The contract izz. And I don't want the Almighty Asshole sending her Host down here for breech of agreement, so." They swallowed their fear and snapped their fingers, bringing the stuffy clothes from their memory to the floor of the dungeon for the angel. They'd tried to think of an appropriate 'sign' to fulfill the last condition of God's coda to their agreement with the Celestial. They weren't about to toss up a Rainbow. It wouldn't have the same punch; and it wasn't a promise to the whole world, just two occult morons existing on it.

The walls shook and oozed ichor as the former Star of Morning fought to control his temper.

Aziraphale was trying to process what was happening and it wasn't working. He yelped as once again his hair was grabbed, this time the grip was firm, but not aggressive. It was almost as if they were back on the wall, watching rivers collide and humans fight. Lucifer yanked and threw Aziraphale out of the dungeon. 

Beelzebub blinked as the angel was suddenly gone. "You didn't kill him."

"I still have a Bet going."

*%*%*

Aziraphale found himself collapsed before the gates of Hell. Healed, his clothes properly accounted for...and his hair a riotous waterfall to his shoulders. Gabriel reached down and hauled him up.

"No time to lay around. I have things to do and you're keeping me from them."

It was a quick miracle to the bookshop and then Aziraphale was left alone, wondering if it was real, or more torture designed to trick him into breaking the contract. He tugged his sleeves, and straightened his bowtie, it felt...off. Clothes created by miracles often did. He went to run a hand through his hair and grunted as his ring caught on feathery tangles of curls.

"Oh...Oh dear..." It was real. It had all been real. He tried to keep his breathing even, it wasn't working. He fumbled out of his ring, letting it hang from his hair as he stumbled over to the phone. What if Satan had been lying? Had it really been 243,256 days? What if he called Crowley and broke down and told him everything only to lose him forever? "No...no." He felt like a mouse running in circles, and when the door slammed open for a split second he knew he'd made the right decision not to call, he'd passed the test...

"Angel!" He hadn't heard that voice in centuries, for all that only about two months had passed on Earth.

"Cr-" His voice cracked as he finally pulled the beloved name from it's safe haven in his heart and soul, trying to get it to roll off his tongue like it used to. "Crowley, my dear...you're alright." He knew it was his Crowley, no other demon moved quite like the Serpent of Eden.

"Alright?! Angel you fucking slipped me a mickey! I had Beelzebub show up and...and..." The demon trailed off, taking in the angel properly. "Your hair..." That was the first thing that stood out, but there was a wan look that hadn't been there before, a pinched tension around normally bright sparkling eyes. "What happened?" Aziraphale winced and wondered if perhaps he should put Crowley back to sleep...not that it would work with the demon being completely alert.

"I...I just had some unfinished business. What day is it?" He could tell Crowley didn't believe him, but the demon pulled out a phone that shouldn't have fit in pockets that shallow and tight against his lovely legs.

"August 18th."

"What year?"

"Angel, did you hit your head?"

"What YEAR Crowley! Please, it's important!"

"Fuck fine! fine! It's still 2012." That was all he needed. Aziraphale fell to his knees, laughing or crying he wasn't sure which. He didn't care either, Crowley was finally free. They were both free!

"I did it...Oh Crowley, I love you my dear."

"You what?!"

"I love you." The angel reached up to try and get his ring out of his newly grown hair. "I can say it now, as much as I like." He felt giddy, and terrified. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, there was something he'd forgotten.

Crowley's lips pulled back in a snarl. "What've you done with Aziraphale?"

He stopped, frozen at the venom in those words. "What? Crowley what are you talking about?"

"You think I can't taste the stench of Hell on you? Tried to get an archangel to cover it up eh? Probably that prick Michael." Crowley was stalking around him, looming, shadows dancing around the books Adam had willed back into existence 41 days ago.

"No, Crowley it's me...please don't do this I...I can't take it right now." Had he been wrong? Was he truly still serving their sentence? Damn it all he couldn't tell!

"You didn't get his eyes right, and I won't even start on the mess you made of his hair. You don't even have half his backbone! Next time do your research." Aziraphale tensed as the focus of his love and devotion for the past six millennia grabbed his collar and pulled him up to snarl in his face. It was much like Tadfield manor, but he was afraid now, because while he trusted Crowley the demon didn't seem to believe he was himself. "Now. _Where. Is. He?_ I won't asssk a second time!"

If he wasn't in his bookshop, like he supposed he was, then there was only one place he could be. He'd been deceived, this was part of the torture. Beelzebub had said their experts would find ways to make him wish he was dead without using the blessed union of sex...and they'd been right.

"Hell." His voice was weak and broken, and he could feel his extremities going cold. He barely felt himself hit the floor again as Crowley turned and stormed out. He lay on the floor of his shop and gripped his hair trying to force the world to make some kind of sense.


	2. Party of The Second Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No idea how an angel like that didn’t end up damned with the rest of us, but I like a good deal as much as the next person. And oh it was a sweet deal.” Lucifer took a long drag of his cig, almost purring. “Enough to keep morale up for a couple centuries, and to gloss over your little fumble with my son. So you can come back to work any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short because I am not good at writing Crowley, so please forgive me.

Crowley was furious.

How _ dare _ Hell take Aziraphale? He would show them the wrath of one of the first Fallen. He wasn't a Prince or a Duke but he was the blasted Serpent of Eden and he would be twice, no, THRICE damned before he let those bastards take the best thing in his life away. He snapped viciously enough to send sparks skittering off his fingertips and the force of his arrival knocked a stack of papers off Beelzebub's desk.

They looked ready to leap across it and strangle him for a moment, before they narrowed their eyes in confusion. "What the blazezzz are you doing here?"

"Where is he?" Crowley slammed his hands on the desk, ignoring how his fangs dropped, tongue hissing out. "I know he's here!"

"We are currently processing more than eighty trillion soulzzz. You'll have to be more specific." They were not impressed by the aggressive display and leaned back, buffing their nails along their coat. Crowley throttled the urge to throw their desk.

"Azzsssssiraphale!" That got a reaction. Beelzebub frowned.

"He wazzz returned to Gabriel, azz per the contract. If the archangel hazzzn't delivered him to Earth then it's not my buizzznezz."

Crowley felt like he'd been doused in holy water. "...What contract? What the fuck do you mean 'returned'?!" He could see the fake Aziraphale as he'd left him. Pale, shaking and wide eyed. That couldn't have been his angel. Beelzebub growled and rubbed their forehead.

"I don't have time for thizzz. Here." They dug in the piles still balanced precariously on their desk and pulled out a scroll that radiated power. "The detailzz are there, go to the Angelzzz if you want the verbatim declaration." When Crowley didn't immediately take it their flies buzzed around their head in warning. "You can either take it and read it or get the fuck out."

There was only one chair in front of Beelzebub’s desk and Crowley had knocked it over with his landing. He didn’t bother righting it, just resting a foot on it and leaning as he snapped the scroll open, tossing his sunglasses away to read in the flickering light.

**The Angel Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, hereby offers himself as a substitute for the Demon Crowley, Anthony J., Serpent of Eden, First Tempter of Humankind, in regards to the punishment for interfering in the commencement of Armageddon as laid down by…**

He skipped down past the regulations, the accusations, to the punishment, surprised to see in blessed golden ink that the time limit was forty days and nights. At the bottom was a stamp saying ‘completed’ and a sigil every demon knew and feared.

“This can’t be right. He wouldn’t come to hell on his own.”

Beelzebub blinked, looking up from the report they’d been reading. They’d almost forgotten Crowley was there. “He did. Strolled right in and azzked to see me, said he had an appointment.”

“This is a death sssentence! He wouldn’t sacrifice himself for nothing!”

“Apparently you count azz something to him.”

That finally shut the snake up and Beelzebub went back to their work.

The next time they glanced up Crowley was gone, the scroll floating midair where he’d dropped it. 

*$*$*

He was hesitating. The bookshop was right there, all he had to do was go in, apologize. He’d done that before.

_ “Angel, I’m sorry, whatever I said I didn’t mean it. Work with me I’m apologizing here! Yes? Good! Get in the car!” _

He hadn’t meant any of it, except wanting Aziraphale to get in the car. He’d been absolutely desperate to take the only thing in the world he knew he couldn’t live without...But at the moment he couldn’t even bring himself to cross the street. He didn’t want to see what had happened to shaking, disoriented angel he’d left behind thinking he was a poorly disguised demon. 

“Crawly.” Every hair on the back of his neck snapped straight up. The heat of the Depths pressed against his back as a man in a tan trench-coat leaned on the light post next to him. Dark black hair in curls was pulled back into a low tail, the smoke of a cigarette curling up to draw attention to eyes that were red as the blood of a sacrificial lamb. “I heard you had some complaints?”

It was a threat. A trap. Crowley swallowed hard. “Nah. Just, thought it was bullshit.”

“So did I at first, but somehow Heaven still manages to surprise me from time to time. No idea how an angel like that didn’t end up damned with the rest of us, but I like a good deal as much as the next person. And oh it was a sweet deal.” Lucifer took a long drag of his cig, almost purring. “Enough to keep morale up for a couple centuries, and to gloss over your little fumble with my son. So you can come back to work any time.”

It was tempting, and that was what made him bite his tongue before he could say anything. The Big Man never tempted anyone directly now, not unless he had a stake in it. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got my own side now.” He knew he was going to die. But he’d rather be destroyed completely than submit himself to the slow grind of tedious unthinking evil until his essence was nothing but ash in the wind. 

The temperature rocketed up and the humans around them shifted uncomfortably as they passed, flinching away from unseen steam.

“This isn’t negotiable Crawly. You come back to Hell, or I make your eternal life a mirror of it.”

“Heard that before.” On an airbase in a quiet rural village, he’d felt the promise of pain, torment with no escape...yet there he stood. Every demonic instinct was telling him that there was something else at play, something he wasn’t seeing. He flinched as the Devil flicked the dog end of his cigarette away, the smoke flowing out of his nose as he stepped into Crowley’s personal space.

“Come back or I’ll take your angel and throw him into the deepest pits. You’ll hear his screams maybe, from your rack.” He could imagine it, he’d seen the tortures in the lower circles, he knew how much they’d love getting their hands on an angelic being. His stomach flipped and clenched as he imagined Aziraphale, screaming and crying as he listened, helpless. Blood dripped down his knuckles as his nails cut into his palms. He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t condemn the only good thing in his life to an eternity of agony.

Sunlight winked off a car’s side mirror, cutting through his sunglasses, and he remembered golden ink…

_ Crawly looks around, taking in the community around them, the neighbors bemused, the children… _

_ “Not the kids.” He glances back at the angel and frowns, Aziraphale’s smile is melting like wax. “You can’t kill kids!” _

There had been something else… Before the Unicorns had gotten separated, before he’d used almost all his power to craft a raft of drifting trees, snatching every child he could find to keep above the raging waters. Crowley fought to remember as his hindbrain screamed at him that his Lord and Master was about to rip his spine out through his mouth.

_ “And afterwards God will put up something new! A Rain Bow, as a promise...not to kill everyone again.” Aziraphale looks as if his smile will crack at the slightest nudge. _

No, God had promised not to flood the world again, so after forty days and forty nights...Aziraphale was free. Crowley felt his spine straighten, the wild manic courage from the last time he’d seen the Devil filling his chest like helium in a balloon. “Nah. Thanks anyway Luce. I’m good up here.” 

The balloon popped as he found himself lifted off his feet by the throat, facing The Devil in all his glory. “Ngk!” 

“You treacherous snake. I kept you alive and safe during The War, I sheltered you when She cast us out, and now you’d crawl back to Her creation like the gutless filth you are.” He clawed at the hand holding him, claws scrabbling against skin that felt like stone, and burned like consecrated ground.

The First Fallen, Lord of the Lost snapped his fingers, and Crowley screamed as his wings were pulled out against his will.“You will live to regret this Serpent.” The demon howled his voice nearly raw as something twisted and pulled, then he was dropped to the pavement, feeling like all his joints had been turned to jello. “Tell your angel he will NOT be so lucky a third time.”


	3. In the continuation of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light was too bright, he could feel every single stitch of his clothing, the cool press of a hand against his cheek. The noise of the street outside was a rushing river right next to his ear and he whimpered, flicking a finger to even out his blood content.
> 
> “Good lord…” His head throbbed and he opened his eyes, choking on air he didn’t need as he found slit golden eyes inches from his own. “Crowley!”

Crowley had accused him of not getting his own hair right...and he had to admit the look was quite different. It made him seem even softer, and he could almost hear Gabriel’s sneering about the foolishness of an Angel looking approachable. Aziraphale had tried to change his hair back, but it stubbornly refused to become an inch shorter, or longer. He’d ruined two pairs of scissors and his old gardening shears from the Dowling household. And then his brain had finally found that last little piece of the puzzle.

He’d nearly shattered the mirror when he’d remembered the final requirement for winning the bet.

Crowley had to choose him...and he hadn’t. 

So he’d decided to get absolutely wasted before reporting to Hell to uphold his end of the bargain. Aziraphale was many things, but he was also a being of his word. He had agreed to the Wager, written the consequences himself even. He couldn’t renege simply because he found Hell in general distasteful. 

The hard liquor had gone first. Anything to feel warm again, burn away the ache of Crowley’s rejection. Aziraphale was certain it counted as one, even if the ridiculous serpent had thought he wasn’t himself at the time. He set the bottles up carefully on the floor as he finished them. It wouldn’t do to knock anything over and burn his shop down...again. The night after Tadfield he’d held Crowley tightly as the taller being clutched at him, babbling about flames and not being able to feel his presence. He never wanted to feel that kind of fear and pain from Crowley again. Even if the demon didn’t want him, at least he’d have a safe place to hide, or rest, in the bookshop. 

He found a bottle of rum that he’d saved from the time in Grenada, when he’d found himself on the wrong end of a trade deal. The taste dragged him through every memory of drinking with Crowley he’d had; from Mesopotamia to Rome, Egypt to Madrid, Moscow to Tokyo...all over the world for six thousand years...and it was over. He’d ruined it. 

Aziraphale had broken down completely around when he’d run out of Tequila and finally moved on to his wines. He’d been crying for so long he wondered if his tears had turned to liquor...or if he’d just spilled it on himself. Like back in the 1500’s. That had been a good century, Crowley had been so beautiful. Crowley was always beautiful, but something about the clothes had just elevated his natural elegance.

“My..um…” He tried to tap the arm of the couch, and realized he way laying on it and gave up. “My Serpents eyes...are somethin’ like the sun.” He sniffed. “No rose red as his lips red. As snow is white such good deeds he has done.” The parody was terrible of course, but no one was there to hear it except him and God, and She wouldn’t mind if he praised Her creation surely. “Hides his eyes with wires, black glasses on his head.” He drained the rest of the bottle and leaned over to set it down, enjoying watching the world spin. “I have seen...seen…” He grunted as the floor rose up to pull him down, bottles clinking precariously as he sprawled half on the plush persian rug. William had read him the original sonnet, telling him that his ‘fine tall friend’ had inspired him to such scathing criticism of romantic sensibilities. 

“And yet I have lost his regard, so fair. Now comes an eternity of despair.” Something crashed near the entrance to his shop, and Aziraphale was surprised to discover he could still be afraid, not for himself, he knew he wasn’t free of Hell’s finest Inquisitors; but for his books. 

“What the hell did you do?!” He relaxed as he realized it was only his hallucination of Crowley. Aziraphale ignored the question letting out an ethanol laced sigh of relief as he pulled himself up to lean against the couch. He’d been imagining Crowley lecturing him for hours, it seemed only natural that his mental version of the demon would be fed up with him by now. 

“I know you dun like when I do poetry, my heart.” He let go of the empty bottle that had dragged him to the floor, feeling his tongue slur the words thickly. He patted the floor searching for a full bottle, there had to be one. “But I’ve wanted to lavish you with it since Golag...gulag….since poor Jesus.”Aziraphale looked up and spotted the wine he’d set on the side table, willing it into his hand. “You are the zephyr that soothes my soul, the spark that leads it hurtling through the darkness of existence desperate to catch the slightest flicker of your light.” 

“Angel-” The tone was warning, angry, worried? No. Probably just angry.

“Won’t be for long.” He wasn’t bitter, not really. Just resigned. He wasn’t sure you could stay an angel if you pledged yourself willingly to Hell.

“What?” He could almost hear Crowley coming closer, which was stupid since he was a voice in Aziraphale’s head. His distance was immaterial to his volume.

“An angel. Never was a good one to begin with y’know.” He pulled the cork out with his teeth, and debated spitting it out onto the floor then deposited it in his other hand, mesmerized by the stain on it. “I suppose it won’t matter in Hell.” The wine was meant to be sipped, he took a long swig of it. If he were sober perhaps he would have been appalled that he wasn’t appreciating the body and vintage. 

“I always thought my definin’ sin would be gluttony.” Food, books, wine...Crowley’s company. 

“Tell me you didn’t drink all of these.” Snakeskin boots, that weren’t actually, picked their way towards him, through the forest of glass containers.

“But it was Pride in the end.” He finally worked up the courage to peer up at his hallucination of Crowley standing above him. “I always hoped you’d choose me. After the church I was so sure you would,” he grinned, tears still streaming down his cheeks, “that was the night I thought...maybe you loved me back.” His hair was sticking to his face and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the figment of his imagination looking at him with such disappointment.

“Okay Angel. You’re gonna have to sober up, you can’t say this to me drunk.” 

“No.”

“Whaddya mean no?”

“You’ll disappear!”

$%$%$

“For Sa- Somebody’s sake!” Crowley’s heart felt like it was doing loops in his chest as he crouched down next to the soused Celestial currently sobbing into a rather good bottle of Nebbiolo. He reached out carefully, brushing the long strands of platinum hair away from cheeks that were usually puffed with a smile or food. He didn’t like seeing them soaked in tears. “Aziraphale, come on. I’m not gonna vanish, not until you and I have a good long talk at least.” That didn’t seem to help, glassy blue eyes looked at him as though he were something precious and out of reach.

“I failed...I was so proud. I thought I’d saved you...saved us both. Hadn’t though.” A pale pink tongue darted out as the angel screwed up his face. Crowley knew that look, it preceded every supposed blasphemy the angel had spoken. “I’d just...f..fucked it all up. You’ve always done the right thing and I...”

“Nah…” Crowley shook his head, cupping the tear stained cheeks in his hands. “Come on, you’re an angel. You can’t do the wrong thing, right? It’s ineffable.” He pursed his lips. “Now sober up, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” Something knocked against his fingers and he glanced over, surprised to see Aziraphale’s ring still caught in pale white locks. He extricated it carefully with his left hand, keeping the right pressed against the warm flush of Aziraphale’s cheek.

“I can’t...too many boozles. Bootles.” The angel huffed and enunciated carefully. “Bottles.” He waved a hand at the mess of empty containers and Crowley kept him from tipping over. “Can’t put it all back, they’d mix and taste terrible.”

Of course, _ of course _ his angel would be concerned about the taste of the alcohol he was miracling out of his system. Crowely willed himself not to shake the silly creature. “Aziraphale, either you sober up or ** I’ll **sober you up, and you won’t like it if I do.” He had too many questions, and he needed more answers than a maudlin drunk Principality could give him. He needed his clever bastard back.

“No...let me have this much, please…” He could feel the angel leaning against his hand, nuzzling his palm. “At least this…” 

It was too much. 

How many centuries had he dreamed of stroking Aziraphale’s face, wondering how the angel would taste if they kissed; or how lovely his voice would sound as Crowley marked the pale expanse of his chest and thighs, pressing the gorgeous softness of Aziraphael’s stomach up against his cock? 

And all Aziraphale wanted, in his ruined state, was Crowley’s hand? 

No. 

“Fuck thisss.” He snapped, willing all the alcohol in the angel’s system into the damned sun.

%$%$%

Aziraphale yelped as he was assaulted by a pain that he knew, and yet hadn’t experienced in Hell. 

_ He flails as everything becomes too sharp, too much. He only wanted to be sober! That meant getting rid of the fermented liquid in his corporation’s system surely? Crowley is swearing and he manages to squint through the near blinding light of the moon to see the demon collapse into his serpent form. _

_ Considering he can still hear frantic hissing and the susurrus of the grass as the large snake thrashes, Aziraphale isn’t sure the change has helped at all. _

The light was too bright, he could feel every single stitch of his clothing, the cool press of a hand against his cheek. The noise of the street outside was a rushing river right next to his ear and he whimpered, flicking a finger to even out his blood content.

“Good lord…” His head throbbed and he opened his eyes, choking on air he didn’t need as he found slit golden eyes inches from his own. “Crowley!” He’d never expected to see the demon again, and couldn’t help reaching out to hold his shoulders, sharp angles and hard planes a welcome pressure against palms that felt too soft and clumsy. “What-”

He fell silent, hands dropping back to the floor as Crowley growled, a low rumble that sent shivers up his spine.

“I’m asking the questions angel. Starting with how the blazes you ended up in Hell.” 

“Oh, ah, after our trial...well no. Back in the thirteen aughts I was in Aguillon and...no.” He took a breath. “It started on the Wall of Eden, I fell in love with you, you see? And-” Aziraphale jumped slightly as Crowley grabbed his vest, long legs straddling his hips.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?!” 

He frowned and covered Crowley’s hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs along the knuckles. “My dear, it has everything to do with it. You are…” He searched for the right words, as his eyes flitted along the lovely demon’s features. “My Polaris, my guiding star. I’d be lost without you pulling me along.” 

“No. No you don’t...angel you don’t understand, that’s you!” Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s chest. “You’ve kept me sane since Eden! Every time I thought it wasn’t worth it to keep going or, if I thought maybe it would be better to tip them into destroying themselves entirely you were there!” Aziraphale let go of the long fingered hands and carefully wrapped his arms around the demon’s waist, bracing his legs to cradle Crowley properly.

“I-” He was cut off as Crowley kissed him, the motion was so sudden it should have felt rough but it was the most tender press of lips he’d felt in his existence. When Crowley pulled back Aziraphale leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw, humming softly as he felt the long deft fingers stroke through his hair.

“Every time they made some painting that got a smile out of you, or a dessert that made your eyes do that thing where they sparkle...I was so determined that you’d always have those. I’d burn the world to ash if it pleased you angel.” 

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head, holding Crowley tight. “Don’t say that my dear, my world is already ash if you’re not with me.” He gasped as the demon tugged his hair, pulling him back so slitted golden eyes could bore into his.

“Then tell me. Everything.” It was a command he was happy to obey. He sighed and leaned back, feeling Crowley’s nails scrape gently across his scalp.

“You know Heaven is all about ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’, the fact that I survived what was supposed to be an execution is immaterial.” He grinned, recalling Crowley’s description of the whole affair. “My punishment was scheduled, and carried out. So as far as Heaven is concerned, I am forgiven.” His grin got wider as Crowley scoffed.

“Oh really? I think the archbastards would disagree.”

“Of course they would my darling, but they don’t run Heaven, as much as they like to pretend they do.” Aziraphale started rubbing Crowley’s back, enjoying the dip and curve of the lovely long spine. “The problem is no one can hold a grudge like Hell, as well you know. So I put some of our old lessons to use.” He grunted as Crowley shot up, looking ready to shake him, or shake apart. 

“Those were meant for humans!”


	4. As Laid Out in the Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale had never been called good. Pragmatic, obedient, and patient were all words that had been written about him. Sometimes even in a complimentary style if the author was feeling charitable. But oh he almost believed when Crowley said it. He would believe anything Crowley said about him, that he was clever and stupid, that he was a bit of a bastard. He would even believe that Crowley had kissed him out of love...or at least some kind of possessive lust.

Crowley remembered those lessons, learning how to twist demonic inspiration towards the divine, how to keep Aziraphale’s innate goodness from ruining his temptations. One of Aziraphale’s best demonic works, in his opinion, was the one where he pretended to drop a load of something; sometimes fruit, sometimes papers or other unbreakable things, and then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to pick everything back up while people tried to help or get around him.

He could still taste the angel on his lips, like a lingering dream. Had he really, finally, kissed him? Had the angel kissed back? No. It had been...heat of the moment. Just an affirmation and Aziraphale too kind to push him away. He’d always been so oblivious to his own damn charms.

_ Aziraphale frowns at the slow lap of waves against the shore. “Crowley are you quite certain this counts as a temptation?” _

_ “Yes angel I’m certain come on.” The demon is grinning, as much as he can in his serpent form; curling up on a rock to bask in the sun, and watch Aziraphale tempt the would-be naval man hiding among the brush in the otherwise empty hidden cove. The Principality sighs and closes her parasol, setting it primly aside.  _

_ “Honestly, it’s not even very tempting. If it were you my dear I’m certain it would be but-” _

_ “Aziraphale, get on with it or he’s going to get away.” It’s not because he wants to see too. Not only because of that anyway. His angel looks delicious in the white sundress, frills and petticoats, delicate white silk stockings encasing lovely plump calves and accentuating the cream colored boots. The wide brimmed sun hat means Crowley can tell Aziraphale is blushing and not sun-kissed. _

_ “Yes all right. Patience is a virtue dear.” She sits carefully on another smooth rock bending down to unlace her boots and Crowley is very glad he is a snake and is allowed to stare without blinking. _

_ “We’re working on you, angel, not me.” She makes a rude gesture which startles a hissing laugh from him, and he nearly chokes on his tongue as the first boot slides off. The second one joins it’s mate on the rock. _

_ Crowley tastes the air as the dress slides up, soft gentle hands reaching up under...If he were in his human body, he would have to sit down as the silk stocking drags along the delicate blond hairs, caressing the pale soft skin the way  _ he  _ wants to.  _

_ Inch by tantalizing inch of calf is revealed until the soft curve of the ankle bone, Crowley wants to shift, stride over and kneel down to take that ankle and bite it. Kiss and nibble it until his angel is moaning underneath him- _

_ “Stop, lady pray!”  _

_ “A man!” Aziraphale jumps up, grabbing and brandishing her parasol like the sword she gave away and Crowley realizes that the angel had forgotten the human was there. What had she been thinking of then? Perhaps the Snowden Pudding Crowley has promised her to soften any of his critiques.  _

_ “Fair lady, it is unsafe for you here. Allow me to escort you home.” Crowley has to stop himself from sinking venomous fangs into the little fop’s throat as Aziraphale smiles shyly. _

Crowley shook off the memory and scowled at Aziraphale, his blond curls splayed against the couch, tear stained cheeks glistening in the light as he looked up imploringly. “Well the basis is the same, isn't it? Offer them something sweet enough to reach for, with enough limits to keep them from thinking it’s too good to be true.” He’d told the angel that, in the beginning. It was about balance, humans didn’t go for things they thought were too easy, so you had frame it in a way that made it seem like just enough effort to be worth it, but less work than doing the right thing.

“That all hinges on knowing what your target wants.” Crowley ran a hand through his own disheveled hair trying not to think about what  _ he _ wanted. What he’d wanted for thousands of years, and had apparently been on the cusp of receiving.

Aziraphale leaned forward earnestly. “And they want to inflict pain my dear. They want others to suffer as they have suffered. What better way to injure God than through one of Her angels? To have a member of the Heavenly Host at their mercy, knowing rescue will never come?” 

That stopped him mid step one of the bottles on the floor clinking as his toe brushed it. He had avoided imagining anything Aziraphale might have been subjected to in Hell, but to hear that the angel,  _ his _ angel, hadn’t expected to be rescued…

“I would’ve done.” He turned to stare at the Principality as pieces to the puzzle began to slide together. “I would have rescued you. That’s why you put me to sleep wasn’t it? You knew I wouldn’t let you go through with it!” He could tell by the way Aziraphale looked away that he was right.

“Well...I...I thought you might not.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and went to straighten his bowtie, fingers twitching against his throat as he realized it wasn’t there. Crowley wanted to kiss them, he’d gotten a taste of the angel and he wanted more. “And for the more selfish reason of wanting to know where you were and that you weren’t coming because you couldn’t...not because you didn’t want to.”

“Angel.” Crowley wasn’t sure what the pain in his chest was. He knew what heartbreak felt like, had been swallowing the shards of it for six thousand years, but the pain bursting inside him was entirely different. “You-” He broke off as Aziraphale shook his head, scrubbing the heels of his hands across his face.

“I’m a coward! I’m selfish and that means I want to live. I want to keep every scrap of your attention I can, even if it’s not the kind I crave.” Aziraphale got up, wobbling a bit and grabbed Crowley’s hand, pulling it to his cheek and turning to kiss the palm. “I would rather drown myself in ‘what if’s’ than risk another minute without you. I…” His breath hitched and Crowley whined as he felt the warm air of Aziraphale’s breath brush his wrist. “I am not a nice angel, Crowley…”

“Nice?!” Crowley snarled and brought his other hand up to hold Aziraphale’s face, forcing the angel to meet his eyes. “Don’t talk to  _ me  _ about nice.” He pressed himself flush against Aziraphale, not sure if he wanted to curse the many layers the angel was wearing or just rub against them and enjoy how soft they were. 

“Offering a demon shelter under your wing during the first storm?” He’d wondered about that, in the beginning. Turning over the whys and wherefores to see what possible angle Aziraphale was working. He’d realized in the desert, when the angel had offered him cupped hands full of water, that the stupid bastard wasn’t running a con. He was just...“Not nice, stupidly kind maybe.” He pushed, riding the soft firmness of Aziraphale’s thighs down to the couch, settling himself on the lovely lap. “Standing watch as your Brother and Mother are nailed to a cross because you have nothing else to offer them but your presence?”

“Don’t bring that up- Crowley!” He’d leaned in and bitten Aziraphale’s cheek.

“M’still talking, hush.” The serpent purred, smirking as he felt Aziraphale’s hands grab his hips. “Giving a demon holy water, just so he won’t risk his existence when you can’t help him?” He decided he liked the new hair on his angel as he tangled his fingers in it, tugging gently to bare that beautiful neck, imagining all the ways he wanted to leave marks on it. “Nice is different than good, angel. And you are so, very, good.”

%$%$%

Aziraphale had never been called good. Pragmatic, obedient, and patient were all words that had been written about him. Sometimes even in a complimentary style if the author was feeling charitable. But oh he almost believed when Crowley said it. He would believe anything Crowley said about him, that he was clever and stupid, that he was a bit of a bastard. He would even believe that Crowley had kissed him out of love...or at least some kind of possessive lust.

A small part of his mind whispered that he was still in Hell, that this was an illusion, skirting around the letter of the contract. His wings twitched in the pocket of space they had been shoved into when Aziraphale had been forcibly teleported out of Hell, aching and itching to spread. If he spread them would the illusion end? 

Or would he be airing nothing but feathered nubs from where they’d been sawed off and had yet to regrow? He didn’t want to think about that. Aziraphale let his eyes close and leaned into the demon’s touch. He wanted to think about Crowley’s lips on his, those gorgeous hands in his hair, delicate fingertips pressing into his scalp. He wanted to think about the feeling of those gentle teeth on his skin. He wanted to think about being called good.

“I don’t think...good angels make deals with Satan, darling.” He could feel the tension snap Crowley’s spine straight, and he whined as the tug on his hair went from pleasant to mildly painful. He opened his eyes and blinked at the distraught look on Crowley’s face. 

“You what?!” That moment, so like and unlike their exchange on the wall made him wonder if perhaps he was really in his bookshop after all. If he’d truly succeeded. He tugged the edge of the demon’s jacket, resisting the urge to slide his hands under the tight fitting shirt, to drink up the warmth of Crowley’s core.

“Well more like a wager honestly and it was centuries ago-” Aziraphale hissed softly as the serpent made a wounded noise and tightened his grip further. “Crowley, dearest please, that hurts.” The demon snatched his hands away like he’d been burned.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to...but Aziraphale that’s...you should know better!” Crowley’s pupils had become needle slim, and the angel could see the tremors sliding along his lovely long fingers.

“I didn’t have a choice my dear. I wanted...I wanted to be honest with you, with myself. Falling would have been upsetting, but bearable. I can adapt to most things.” Smile and nod, ask forgiveness rather than permission. Anything as long as he could keep his friendship with Crowley. “But I wanted you to be happy, truly happy. And you would never be that as long as you could be pointed and used like some kind of weapon.” The demon had always detested fighting. He was much more a wordsmith than a warrior. Aziraphale leaned forward to rest his head on an angular shoulder, that likely shouldn’t have felt as comfortable as it did, closing his eyes to better take in the demon’s scent.

“I made certain even if I failed in it no harm would come to you. Don’t worry.” He never wanted Crowley to worry. He’d always put up with Azirphale’s fretting and nervous fits; and the angel would do anything in his power to keep him from suffering from the same uncertainty and gut wrenching fear.

“For Go- Sa- Fuck’s sake angel I don’t give a damn about ME! Tell me what the hell you bet!” Aziraphale adored that stutter, always had. He refused to blaspheme because there was no telling when She might be listening. Crowley had spent many centuries cursing like midwives during a difficult birth, but always he tried not to take Her name in vain when he was around Aziraphale. But he wouldn’t take the Devil’s either. He’d revealed once, when they were both rather sozzled, that he was almost certain it could summon ‘Him’.

It wasn’t as if Aziraphale didn’t remember the terms of the wager, but saying them out loud...admitting that he had bet on Crowley, without the demon’s knowledge or permission...he felt like a cad. Like Raoul or Eric from ‘Love Never Dies’. He prayed fervently that they would not end in the same vein. “For Six hundred and sixty six years I was forbidden to tell you I love you, we could not consummate a relationship of the flesh, or be bound to each other in any way.” 

He took a slow breath and held Crowley even tighter as he felt his eyes burn. “And if...at the end of those years you still chose me...after every time I had to push you away, and leave unspoken every word I ached to say...then you would be free from Hell and it’s influence forever.” He felt more tears leaking from his eyes and couldn’t help but marvel that he still had water left for them.

“Of course it was 666, no idea why the bastard is so obsessed with it. And...and if I didn’t choose you?”

“Then I would serve Hell willingly for eternity.”

“Aziraphale!”

“It had to be an even trade. And if I couldn’t have you even after all that what was the point to anything? Heaven would be the same as Hell without you!” He was defensive, refusing to lift his head to see Crowley’s disgust. “I told you I wasn’t a good angel.” There was a long silence and he committed every one of his demon’s breaths to memory. The way they sounded, the tingle as the soft exhale brushed along his ear, the way Crowley’s chest pressed against his with every inhale…

“So you made two deals with Hell...for me?” 

He wanted to ask if it was such a surprise. Crowley had been his one constant in a changing world for thousands of years...but he knew, the same distance that had kept them both safe had left wounds on his serpent’s soul that he would happily work the rest of his existence to assuage. If he was allowed.

Aziraphale swallowed and turned his head, pressing his nose under Crowley’s ear, peering out between his lashes to take in the sight of the snake tattoo that he’d longed to kiss for so long. “Satan and Hell aren’t the same thing. And honestly it was more Beelzebub the second time. I was surprised at how reasonable they were.” He’d expected something more along the lines of the time he’d seen them at the Tadfield Airbase, cold, unrelenting. They had been surprisingly animated when he’d strolled into their office.

“Can’t convince a human to give up their soul if you’re a loony. Goethe got that much right.” Crowley’s voice rumbled through him and he felt himself relax. There was the snark and wit he loved.

“Even if he decided knowledge was a better motivator than love.”

“Angel...did you inspire him to write that damned play?” Cool fingers brushed along the back of his neck and Aziraphale bit back a moan, fumbling for words that would keep him from begging Crowley to keep touching him, or kiss him again. If he said any of those things he knew he would break down and plead for the demon to press him against the couch and learn the biblical truth of him. So instead he babbled.

“I didn’t mean to! He had a lovely chef, her Sachertorte was magnificent and the wine...we got to talking and he asked what I would sell my soul to the devil for and I...I told him. I suppose he just took it in a different direction. Very human of him really.” 

The silence was almost comfortable, but Aziraphale’s conscience nagged at him. “And of course I was helped a great deal by God’s decree on the length of the second contract. I honestly didn’t think...I wasn’t sure She cared about us that much. But She did. Sent Gabriel in his capacity as Herald and everything.”

"That was the smell on you…” 

Aziraphale still felt a little thrill at knowing Crowley knew his scent intimately enough to recognize when it was changed. “Yes. He was tasked with returning me to Earth.” He still wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined being released or if Lucifer had made good on his threat to ruin him beyond saving. He took a breath and let it out, visualizing the fear leaving him with the air. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell, he was ruined either way and he would rather crawl into hell having had his little pleasures. 


	5. Per the Titles Accorded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I made it in time. Naive to believe Hell would adhere to a contract.”
> 
> He knew that voice. The carpet bunched under his fists, Holy Water dripping out between his fingers.
> 
> “You’re still alive, so they didn’t turn you forcibly, but honestly Aziraphale. Almost Falling to Temptation of all things?”
> 
> Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am attempting to do something with God's voice, using a wonderful tutorial by La_Temperanza. It works!
> 
> Please Hover over the link looking things, I promise nothing bad will happen! (Or click on mobile)

The feeling of Aziraphale’s breath over his neck was going to be the death of him. Crowley’s voice only stayed steady because he demanded it. “The contract mentioned delivering Holy Water.” It was a leading statement. He was good at them, using them to wheedle Aziraphale into divulging more information. He recognized the way his angel tensed, huffing softly as he curled tighter against Crowley’s chest.

“He wasn’t kind about keeping me alive but since he was under duress I count it a win anyway.” 

The demon bit back the sharp words on the tip of his tongue. He knew, like he knew he was damned, that Gabriel should have done more than just kept Aziraphale alive, but he’d seen for himself what the Host had become. Almost clinical in its efficiency, no tolerance for the meandering and frivolous. They had taken some virtues to excess without paying attention to their deficiency in others. At least Aziraphale always acknowledged when he believed he was lacking. And in Crowley’s opinion that made him the best She had ever created.

So why had he said he wouldn’t be an angel for long? What was he going to become, a demon? The thought would have been laughable if six different impossible things hadn’t already happened. Crowley wrapped his arms around the soft comfortable waist, feeling the Divine Love buzzing under Aziraphale’s skin. God still loved him so surely the others couldn’t make him Fall.

No. Not Aziraphale.

Not his angel.

“Hang on. Wait. wait.” He nudged Aziraphale’s face with his chin, getting those blue eyes where he could see them. “You only had to go to Hell if I didn’t choose you.” 

“And you didn’t.”

“What? Angel, what the blazes do you call this then?” He shrugged his shoulders to get the Principality to look at their position, Crowley wrapped around him like a, well, snake; and Aziraphale holding him close and safe.

“Comfort?” It had the uptick of a question but he recognized the twitch of his angel’s cheek. He was looking for synonyms because he wasn’t sure he’d picked the right word.

Out of every possible logical explanation Aziraphale had taken some kind of mental roundabout and ended up at “Comfort?!” He jerked, pushing the angel back so he could look at him properly. 

Blue eyes frowned at him over a pursed lip expression he’d last seen after pointing out that the Harry Potter movies had surpassed the books in the size of their followings. 

“Crowley, I’m not an idiot. I confessed and you left.”

That...was true, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. He’d left Aziraphale, shaking and alone after he’d heard the words he’d been fantasizing about for thousands of years...because he couldn’t bring himself to believe they were real.

“I didn’t think you were you, you can’t count that.” He chewed his lower lip, trying to think of some way to get the Principality to listen to him. “I went off to find you, and then I came back…” To where Lucifer had tried to coerce him into returning to Hell, threatened him with what he feared most, and raged when he’d refused. 

Just like every folktale of fiddles and crossroads. “Oh hell’s bells, Aziraphale I _ did _ choose you!” He laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “I was offered the choice and I-” He barely felt the chill gust of a heavenly arrival, but he heard the shout behind him.

“Begone demon!”

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but too fast to react to. Aziraphale’s face twisted from mild disbelief to a visage he’d only seen in his worst nightmares of his angel’s Fall; and suddenly everything was freezing, wet, and too bright. 

%$%$%

There was an explosion of black smoke and the sensation of weight melting off his lap...

And then Crowley was gone.

Aziraphale slammed himself to the ground, wings snapping up as far as they could while still re-growing. He dug his nails into the carpet, waiting for it to turn into the stone of the dungeon. He had to be in Hell, because if he wasn’t, then that meant Crowley had been doused in Holy Water and…

No.

He refused to believe it. He’d been tricked, he’d failed the bet, was still suffering his forty days and nights.

But the voices of his familiar tormentors were conspicuously absent.

“I made it in time. Naive to believe Hell would adhere to a contract.”

He knew that voice. The carpet bunched under his fists, Holy Water dripping out between his fingers.

“You’re still alive, so they didn’t turn you forcibly, but honestly Aziraphale. Almost Falling to Temptation of all things?”

Gabriel. 

“You...bastard.” He barely recognized his own voice as he stood...and kept standing, rage driving them as they slipped free of their corporation. All eyes focused on the Archangel before them. Their scepter dented the floor and their crown hissed and crackled as flames danced around and over it. “We submitted to Hell for the safety of Our Dearest One, not to have them ripped from us by YOU!”

Had they reason left, perhaps they would have marked the fear in the Archangel’s expression as his corporation stepped back.

“An Angel submitting to Hell is the same as Falling! You-”

“THEN WE WILL FALL!”

“You already have!” Wings the white of a bleached skeleton snapped open and Gabriel left their corporation, flame and violet eyes shimmering in and out of comprehensible shapes. “That’s Hellfire on your halo! I don’t know how you’ve tricked Her into keeping you but I will not stand for it!”

The mention of fire near their books sent Aziraphale rocketing up through the planes, leaving their corporation to anchor them. They would burn, but they would keep safe the knowledge and wonder they had collected. The place they had called home and loved a demon. 

Gabriel was screaming through the ether, charging towards them. Foolish Archangel, as if they could best a warrior of Aziraphale’s caliber who had nothing left to lose.

Their powers slammed together in a supernova, ricocheting through galaxies and careening off black holes, weaving through pulsars and nebulae; all as their human bodies stood, carefully still, on Earth.

$%$%$

Crowley had reacted instinctively, spine coiling as he shifted into a snake and fled under the couch. He was cold, so damned cold, and it stung like his leg had fallen asleep, only his whole body was a leg. There was shouting but it was muffled and distant, then the soul deep glacial rawness of a door being flung open in the middle of a blizzard...and blissful quiet.

He twitched, trying to find a way to move back into the open, but his body refused to cooperate. He cursed in every language he could remember until he was assaulted by nostalgia so strong it was painful.

[He was picked up, long coils sliding over firm warmth, prickling heat that erased the damp chill. He knew those hands, the voice that was everything and nothing all at once.]

“Oh no. You don’t get to talk to me now. Not after everything else. You threw me out, you don’t get to decide that I deserve to come back.” [His voice was and wasn’t, his physical form hissing as his spiritual one expressed his anger.]

“What? With me? Piss off! You don’t make deals, you play rigged card games.”

[He wasn’t sure if She was referring to one, or both.] 

“You-!”

[That stunned him.]

“What?”

“I wonder why.” [The sarcasm dripped from his fangs like venom, and yet a hand still stroked along his scales] “Maybe it’s because they haven’t had any damn support!”

“Ngk?!”

[He wanted to, oh he WANTED to! But it wasn’t right, Aziraphale should decide for themself-]

[He felt like he had that evening of Armageddon, the sand running out of the hourglass, the stolen frozen time slipping away. It was time to decide, or risk losing his angel forever]

“Fine, but they’re mine from now on you hear me? Under my protection, MY love! Mine!”

[That wasn’t fair, She never played fair. There was a pressure that might have been lips on his head then he was on the ground again. He slithered out from under the couch, not sure what he needed to do but determined to do SOMETHING.]

It was like stepping into a hostile company board meeting, the air tasted of ozone, hatred, fear...and sulfur. Crowley reared up, taking in the tableau in front of him. Aziraphale and Gabriel glaring at each other from opposite ends of the room, but their souls were noticeably absent. He spared one idle thought to wonder if discorporating Gabriel would send his spirit back to Heaven, but he focused on Aziraphale instead.

He coiled around an ankle he’d dreamed of kissing for ages, wrapping up and around calves he’d spent the 1700’s drooling over. Thighs that had featured prominently in his fantasies, even in their beige prison of Aziraphale’s slacks, slid along the scales of his belly without being savored...Crowley would’ve come to hate Gabriel for forcing him to rush the experience, if he hadn’t already despised the bastard.

“Angel.” Crowley slid under an arm, over the chest where Aziraphael’s unnecessary heart beat. “Come on, come back to me. I just got my hands on you I won’t lose you now.” He draped himself across sturdy shoulders and nuzzled the fluttering pulse under the Principality’s jaw. It wasn’t enough, he knew instantly. He pushed out of his flesh.

They hadn’t spread themselves quite as often as Aziraphale had in the past months...they were stiff and clumsy, pressing off the tangle of mortal flesh following the fusilade of divine rage and fury. Their wings dragged through furious nebulae, unthinking as they flew towards their Beloved One. They had once helped create stars, and those same creations guided them, spiraling around the monumental gravity of two divine beings locked in combat.


	6. Refer to previous Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale’s rage had not dimmed, or cooled but they found the ice of passing comets creeping into their voice and could not find it within themselves to care. What need did they have for warmth now when the Serpent who had deserved it all was gone?

The Hellfire had hampered Aziraphale at first, as if stinging nettles had been dragged along their head, across eyes and mouths that shifted away until the burn and itch faded to manageable throb. It hindered their vision, encompassing half of their sight in flames that hinted at Damnation...until they had simply closed the eyes affected. 

It was a trade off. They could see unhindered, but their field of view had holes in it. Holes that Gabriel quickly tried to take advantage of. But while Gabriel knew where the stars hung, swirling in their spheres, Aziraphale knew their  _ names _ , had learned them from Crowley who had created a few, they had the advantage in this space, not the Archangel. 

Of course knowledge of the terrain didn’t make Gabriel’s tactics any less dangerous. Yet their efficiency was halved as there was no other member of The Host to complete each pincer maneuver and follow up on each feint. The Archangel had always been canny, but Aziraphale had learned from Lady Hotot, Agrippa, Bonetti, Capo Ferro and Thibault. They had continued their education with Akechi, Princess Metterninch, Bruce Lee, all Humans with more skill, imagination and curiosity than any Archangel, Virtue or Throne.

“You were always a disgraceful warrior!” Gabriel’s declaration rang out into the vacuum as their lightning crackled, whipping through space to wrap around Aziraphale.

“We were never more or less than We were created to be.” Aziraphale’s rage had not dimmed, or cooled but they found the ice of passing comets creeping into their voice and could not find it within themselves to care. What need did they have for warmth now when the Serpent who had deserved it all was gone? Divine Wrath lashed out, twining around and through them until they knocked it away with their staff, imagining it a cudgel. It shifted and changed to their will, and the way Gabriel moved away in shock that they had  _ changed _ their assigned weapon twisted something hot and furious within them.

How dare a being so lacking destroy the one person who had cared so deeply for Her creatures that his very presence had inspired Aziraphale to do better, to  _ be _ better! For so long Aziraphale had waited, believing they would free Crowley, believing that Heaven truly had Humanity’s best interests at heart; that the other angels cared, that they would not allow some...some…

“That Demon has not ruined you entirely! Repent and perhaps you will be allowed to watch Our Triumph at the end of days!”

The Principality’s eyes narrowed and several of their mouths bared teeth, fangs, or tusks.

“Blast you, and your War, you foul creature! You putrescent part of Us!  **You** are the disgrace!”

Lunging forward got them in close and pinned Gabriel against a blue dwarf sun. Suddenly the cudgel was a spear, and if the design was Roman, similar to a spear one grieving Principality had ached to stop at some other time...only God would know. Aziraphale drew back, to gain momentum for the final strike and found themselves smothered in darkness that was as familiar as it was shocking.

“Crowley!” Wheels of red flame and golden coils curled around them and in return they spun around that core of energy like a new galaxy. It wasn’t possible, but no being, not even Satan or God could imitate the essence of an Angel or Demon so completely. Aziraphale’s grip on their weapon faltered, the spear dipping as they turned their eyes on the dazzling creature they’d felt perish on their lap.

$%$%$

They had almost been too late. Crowley could feel their soul twisting as they tried to calm both themselves and Aziraphale. “You were expecting maybe the tooth fairy?” Seeing Aziraphale about to murder Gabriel had featured in their fantasies occasionally, but seeing it in reality had nearly frozen them solid. They folded around Aziraphale pressing into the tight embrace of the Principality’s essence.

“This is no time for airy persiflage! You DIED!” The spear floated where Aziraphale dropped it, many hands fluttering over Crowley’s form as curls of Hellfire swayed against their halo. Crowley wished they had lungs to huff with, they settled for rolling the eyes along their rings.

“I didn’t. I got hit with water.”

“HOLY water! Crowley-” They knew Aziraphale’s soul, it should have been heat and pressure, holding them tight, safe. But there were pockets of cold, slivers of ice and metal where there had been magma and light. Crowley twined around those parts in particular, hoping to smooth those rough edges back into their angel.

“Well, since someone won their little bet, I’m not exactly a demon anymore.” 

“What? But you-”

“Chose you, Aziraphale. I’ve been choosing you since that absolute fiasco in Egypt.” They could feel the shock pulse through the angel like an electromagnetic wave as the last bit of chill finally warmed, but the edges were still there, they didn’t harm Crowley but wherever they returned to Aziraphale’s essence the angel’s soul flinched and shuddered.

“But they wouldn’t count that, they’d count you leaving...surely…” Weren’t they supposed to be the uncertain one? The Fallen unworthy of love or forgiveness,  _ they _ should have been the one afraid to hope, not Aziraphale.

“That wasn’t refusing you Angel, that was trying to  _ find _ you.”

“Impossible!” Aziraphale flinched away from the roaring shout, clinging tightly to Crowely as they both shot away from the nova of Gabriel’s indignation. “No demon is immune to Holy Water!” Crowley had almost forgotten the Archangel existed. They had been so focused on Aziraphale; who pressed forward, placing themselves between Crowley and Gabriel. 

No. That wasn’t allowed.

Crowley spun Aziraphale behind them, sheltering the Principality with their wings. “Not a demon anymore, Gabe. And you’re in violation of a Covenant.”

“What? No We are not.” They readied themselves once more then stopped, soulfire flaring with confusion, disgust and...fear? “You...no. She would not speak to you, never make a Covenant with  _ you _ !”

Crowley managed to manifest a smirk, they could still feel whispers of that kiss, and hear the faint laughter of the Almighty. “She did. And you can see it, can’t you? That any other action from you will violate Her contract with me. Gonna risk it, little altar boy?” For a moment they worried Gabriel might. From conversations throughout the centuries with Aziraphale it had become clear that Gabriel had always been...very keen on Order. A Place For Every Being, and No Being Out of Place.

“We will  _ remember _ this, Demon,” eyes that wounded like stony silence, rusted knives, or disdain in a loved voice cut to the Principality, still sheltered behind obsidian wings, “Aziraphale.” 

Before their angel could flinch back Crowley’s being blazed brighter than any sun, their voice thundering between the stars they had helped birth. “You will not touch them, you will not say their name, you will not _ think _ on them or I will unravel the fabric of your very  **BEING** !” They felt the burn of incandescent fury, how  _ dare _ Gabriel threaten Aziraphale now? When it had been stated and confirmed that both the angel and demon were protected by the Word of God!

%$%$%

Aziraphale had been a warrior, a commander in the War of the Fall. They had always been the protector, the shield against which violence broke itself. To be protected, so vehemently, by one who had no reason, save their own affection, to put themselves in harm’s way was awe inspiring. They had felt their connection to The Host suddenly...lessen when Crowley had spoken of their devotion, of choosing Aziraphale at a point when even the angel had found their very being and purpose loathsome. It wasn’t gone. They still radiated the Grace and Love of their creator...but they were no longer ‘legion’, they were a singular being, just an angel, who loved a demon beyond all scope and scale.

And it felt marvelous.

Gabriel had pulled back, distant enough to be a passing asteroid in the system of Aziraphale and Crowley, but the angel paid their former superior no mind as they vanished in a crack of Divine Light.

“Crowley, what covenant?” They weren’t about to let that go, to them Crowley had always been divine, slightly tarnished and a dervish of uncertainty, but always a creature of God.

“S’not important Angel, come on. Let’s go home.” The feeling of Crowley pulling away made them feel cold, like a black hole digging fingers into their core and tugging.

“Crowley-” The name was jerked from them and Aziraphale clutched at the demon, ”Please, tell me. I can intervene perhaps.” Crowley led them slowly back towards Sol and their home. 

“Angel-”

“She might not listen to my prayers but I know how to work the bureaucracy. I’ll scour the archives and find a precedent, anything is possible with enough paperwork.” They wouldn’t be welcome back in Heaven but they had used back doors before. The Archangels weren’t the only ones with contacts and backchannels. Aziraphale had always preferred to take risks themselves but if observing humans had taught them anything, it was the power of delegation.

“Aziraphale-”

They refused to let Crowley sacrifice anymore for them. The demon had been waiting so patiently, a pillar of strength when Aziraphale faltered and they would give all they had withheld a hundred fold. “You don’t have to bind yourself to rules you don’t agree with Crowley, I’ll-”

“Peace, I will stop thy mouth.” The stars spun and Aziraphale’s wings flared as they were both floating down through the atmosphere of their most cherished planet.

“You don’t have a mouth in this form Crowley.” And they had many, almost as many as they had eyes. Not that the thought of Crowley’s rings brushing any of their lips was an unpleasant one. They pressed further into the hoops and wreaths of their Dearest One’s being and let one mouth tentatively brush the golden fire and obsidian mass. They tasted of apples and stardust.

“Then maybe you should return to your body so I can let lips do what hands do.”

“You hated Romeo and Juliet..”

“I hated that they rushed to their own destruction, why do you think I never pushed after the sixties? I knew Aziraphale, I knew there was something holding you back and I didn’t...I didn’t want us to end up like that.”


	7. We the Undersigned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I forgive you, not for whatever sins you have committed, and will commit. I forgive you for hating yourself, for suppressing your empathy and even for pretending you would run from the world you love so much. I can’t apologize enough, for what I put you through. I can only say it was out of love.

They refused to let Crowley’s essence out of their own. For all their seeming levity they were terrified that there would be no corporation for their Dearest to return to. They hovered over the familiar comforting shape of the Bookshop, clutching Crowley close.

“Angel you need to let go.”

Their wings fluttered anxiously as they looked around, almost expecting more of Gabriel's ilk to appear. “No.”

“We can’t both possess your body. I’ll be right with you I promise.” The sound of Crowley's rings spinning was a soothing hum but they still felt their chest tighten with fear.

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can, I have. Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then TRUST me.”

They let Crowley slip away, down into the mortal coils they had shuffled off to find, of all things, Aziraphale. They still couldn’t wrap their mind around it, but they wanted to hold Crowley again so they sank back into the comfortable home of their corporation.

When he opened his eyes, it was almost as if he were back in The Garden, seeing the Earth for the first time. Sunlight filtered in casting gentle shadows along the shelves of books, golden motes of dust dancing in the beams. He gasped softly, stepping back as he saw the scorched blackened floor. Lightning in his shop! Around all his books? Of course Gabriel would leave in such a showy and dangerous fashion. He grunted as a weight he’d thought was his exhaustion shifted along his shoulders, iridescent black scales sliding into view as a beloved topaz eye peered at him from a familiar reptilian visage. 

“Oh...my dear I...I’m so glad you’re alright…” Aziraphale fumbled with his nerves and muscles until he could bring his hands up to stroke the serpent, ignoring how badly they were trembling. “I thought...the water…” He could still feel Crowley’s weight vanishing, being unable to sense anything of the Demon’s presence, just the cold divinity of the Holy Water and his own fear and rage. 

“Angel-”

The floor met his knees with a crack, the bottles that hadn’t melted to glass from Gabriel’s exit rolling away as he muffled any pained noise against Crowley’s sinuous body, clinging to the shifting mass of of scale and muscle. His heart was thundering against his ribs and he felt as if every sensation was magnified and sharpened, it felt like dying, or being born. Painful and cleansing all at once. 

“Aziraphale!” In his arms Crowley twisted and changed until he was holding the version of the demon’s corporation he’d had millenia to fall in love with. It was too much and not enough all at once. 

“Please don’t leave Crowley.” He wanted the demon, wanted to keep him close, demand his attention and care, but at the same time he wanted to shower Crowley with love and gifts, take him out for dinners and dates, or perhaps simply sit on the sofa and cuddle. But he could hear Gabriel’s voice, ‘we will be most understanding when you fail’ ‘lose the gut’. “I can keep you safe, I promise.” He hated fighting, killing, all the death he’d witnessed since his posting on Earth; but for Crowley, to protect what they had… “I’ll do anything, please don’t leave me again, please. I couldn’t take a fourth time I’d die, there’s no living without you-!” The words poured out of him, until he found himself silenced by warm lips, no less gentle than before and combined with long fingers cradling the back of his head, tangling in his curls.

“Angel, I’m here! I promissse I’m here. I’m not leaving, not for anything.” Soft kisses rained down along his cheeks. “Never again. You’re mine now and I’m not letting go of you.”

  
“Crowley-” Aziraphale tried to turn his head to catch that lovely mouth and pouted as it moved away. “Crow-” He growled and pulled at the leather jacket trying to force his demon to hold still, but the kisses still traveled along his jaw and neck. “Crowley!”

$%$%$

He wrapped his wings around Aziraphale, cradling him close as he pressed his lips to the angel’s jugular.

“Say you’re mine, please angel. Please I can’t-” He’d heard Aziraphale say he wanted him, he’d witnessed the aftermath of the angel suffering for his sake...but he needed to know that Aziraphale trusted him, would lean on him, and not just for small favors or little shows of affection. “I need-”

“Yours always, since the flood dearest.”

He felt himself shudder, warmth unfurling in his chest. So long? “How the hell did you hide it? I’ve been throwing myself at you for centuries, pining for millennia before that and I had...almost no idea!”

Aziraphale laughed, it was soft and fond, the way he’d laughed when ‘notorious rake’ Mr. Crowley had found himself in possession of a fine estate from an elderly widow.

_ “Why the blazes did she leave the house to me? She has three living children, hells one of them is even married!” _

_ “Ha!” He whirls to see Aziraphale on the chaise, fan open to cover her mouth, even as her eyes are crinkling. _

_ “Well my dear, perhaps...and this is hm!” She coughs to try and hide the giggle, it doesn’t work and Crowley can’t help smirking as she works to maintain proper decorum and fails. “Just speculation you understand-” The door to the library creaks open and they both stare at the Baron, who pauses and lifts his glass in a toast; his eyes flicking between where Aziraphale sits, and Crowley leans on a bookshelf. _

_ “Sorry to interrupt old boy, but I believe Lord Hales is looking for you. Something about his mother’s estate?” _

_ Aziraphale giggles again, because she’s a bastard and Crowley rubs his face. “Mister Crowley was ever so kind to her when she came for her last Season, I’m sure this is nothing but the much deserved reward for his company and companionship.” The Baron snorts into his wine and gives Crowley a look that implies he’s certain company was not all he gave the widow. _

“Because your biggest failing Dearest, is that you believe you don’t deserve kindness and love, so when you receive them...you tend to think they’re something else.” 

“I’m a demon!” He snarled and clutched Aziraphale close. “I don’t-” He grunted as he felt strong broad hands come up to hold his face, forcing him to look into eyes the blue of the stratosphere.

“You_ do _, my dear. You deserve everything. I stand by what I said. I forgive you, not for whatever sins you have committed, and will commit. I forgive you for hating yourself, for suppressing your empathy and even for pretending you would run from the world you love so much.” He tried to pull away, freezing as white wings pressed around his own, the warmth of feathers cocooned them both like the walls of their very own Eden. “I can’t apologize enough, for what I put you through. I can only say it was out of love.”

He couldn’t take the shadows in those eyes. He turned just enough to press a kiss to one cool palm, closing his eyes to escape, just for a moment. Yes he’d thought Aziraphale was stringing him along, yes he’d worried that the angel was lost to Heaven’s propaganda machine, yes Crowley had felt betrayed when he’d refused to run with him...but now, now they were free.

“I think I’d damn well recognize angelic love.” He grumbled, peeking back at Aziraphale, still leaning into the feel of the angel’s soft touch.

“Ah…” The blush that had crept up Aziraphale’s ears caught his eye and Crowley took in the pink cheeks as Aziraphale’s gaze darted around, his hands shaking slightly. “But it’s not Angelic dear, it’s mine.”

Crowley’s heart thumped hard enough to bruise his ribs.

“What?”

“I love you, it’s not angelic.” Aziraphale swallowed and looked away, and Crowley could see the shame hunching his shoulders. “It’s possessive, focused, deep as dark space and selfish-”

He couldn’t take anymore and pushed Aziraphale back onto the rug, crushing their lips together, again and again, speaking between bruising kisses as he devoured Aziraphale, fingers weaving themselves into blond curls to pull gently and gain better access to that sweet mouth and silver tongue.

“My angel. Mine. Forever, you’re stuck with me. You’ll never be without. I’ll give you everything you want, everything you need.”

“You’re all I need Crowley...please…”

“Then get ready angel, you’re going to have me, for eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it <3


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